


The Bachelor from Gallifrey

by fairycat



Category: Doctor Who (2005), The Bachelor RPF, The Bachelorette (TV)
Genre: Crack, Crack Crossover, Humor, Minor The Doctor/The Master (Doctor Who), Minor The Doctor/Yasmin Khan, Multi, On Hiatus, Swearing, ambigously human Chris Harrison, minor Thasmin, minor Thoschei
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:41:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23636986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairycat/pseuds/fairycat
Summary: You’ve heard of the Doctor and the Master. Now get ready for the Bachelor and the Associate. Follow the Bachelor, the constant star of reality TV shows “The Bachelor” and “The Bachelorette.” Meanwhile, the Associate is a sales associate.
Relationships: Original Time Lord Character(s) & Original Time Lord Character(s), Original Time Lord Character(s)/Original Character(s), The Master & Original Time Lord Character(s)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 7





	1. Death of a Bachelor

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by this Tumblr post: https://always-a-fairycat.tumblr.com/post/185512802915/operahousebookworm-mareebrittenford
> 
> I put "Major Character Death" as a warning just in case, but unless I change my mind, no one's going to stay dead in this fic.
> 
> Thanks to [agent_daytime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/agent_daytime) for being my reality TV consultant!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains a tiny bit of choking (of a non-sexual kind, you thirsty freaks, haha).

The man was on his third drink at the bar, babbling to the bartender about his ex who “just couldn’t accept the alien thing.”

“It was too much for her, man!” he exclaimed. “She seemed so open to it, you know. A new-agey type into astrology and whatever. I didn’t even take her into space, Eoin! She just took one look at my TARDIS console and left!”

Eoin patted the man on the shoulder. He, like most of the bar staff, knew the man was actually an alien whose appearance changed now and then. He knew this alien had a combination spaceship/time machine called a TARDIS. He knew this alien had several identities to hide his alien nature. Eoin had first met the man when he was calling himself Michael. Now he was calling himself Kashton.

“Let me know when you’re ready to go home,” said Eoin. “I’ll call an Uber for you.”

Kashton sniffed. “Thanks. You’re . . . you’re a real pal, you know that?”

Eoin chuckled. “Oh, gotta go. Other customers.”

As Kashton sipped his drink, a man in a purple jacket sidled up to him. “Come here often?” The face was South Asian, and the voice was . . . British, probably? Kashton was already too tipsy to differentiate among accents, and besides, he was out of practice.

Kashton opened his mouth to speak, but the British(?) man placed a finger to Kashton’s lips. “Shh, don’t answer,” the man murmured. “I know why you’re here, Bachelor. Another human broke your hearts.”

Kashton—the Bachelor, rather—sat up straight all at once, though it made him dizzy to do so. “Master,” he said. He looked his fellow Time Lord up and down before resting his gaze on the other’s face. “Haven’t seen you in a while. Love the new look, by the way.” He traced an unsteady finger along the Master’s lips. “...You’re pretty...”

The Master rolled his eyes and slapped the Bachelor’s hand away. “Stop it, do you think you’re that Bond fellow? Come on, you’re supposed to be flirting with cartoonishly idiotic humans in your TARDIS. If you don’t, what would I DVR while I’m off killing people until the Doctor notices?” He groaned. “Speaking of, I might need a drink, too.”

“I heard ‘might need a drink,’” Eoin said from halfway down the bar. “I’ll be over in a bit.”

“Thanks, Eoin,” the Bachelor said. “Hey, I know it’s a touchy subject, but I can’t resist. How’s it going with the Doctor?”

A dangerous expression of rage and pain—the Master’s murder face, the Bachelor had always called it—met the Bachelor’s question. “Where do I start?”

“It’s been a while. I think last time we talked you said he had ‘stupid spiky hair’ and was ‘constantly making out with humans.’ He looked like—here, lemme show you . . . you sent me a pic.” The Bachelor showed the Master a photo of the Doctor on his phone.

“She’s gone through at least two faces since then,” said the Master.

“Oh, the Doctor is female again? It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

The Master chuckled. “Oh, her history is longer than you think. Agh, I’ll need a drink before I tell you all that, though.”

“You got pictures of her regens?” the Bachelor asked.

“Yeah.” The Master opened an album called “Doctor.” “I only met this one once,” he said, pointing to an image of a young man in a bow tie. “He didn’t even know it was me!” He then swiped through several images of an older man with curly gray hair. “This one was fun. Snogged him.”

“Yeah, Master, get some!” the Bachelor interrupted, raising his hand for a high-five. Once it was clear the Master was going to leave him hanging, he dropped his hand.

Eoin came by to take the Master’s order and ask if “Kashton” wanted anything else. He glanced over at the Master’s phone and asked, “Who’s that guy?”

“His childhood friend slash best enemy slash on-again, off-again girlfriend,” said the Bachelor. Eoin gave him a strange look, so the Bachelor added, “Oh, they’re both Time Lords, so they both regenerate like I do, so . . . girlfriend now.”

Eoin ignored the Master’s death glare and nodded slowly. “Okay. You . . . wanna talk, man?”

“That might not be the best idea,” said the Bachelor. “Don’t get me wrong, your support is greatly appreciated, but you don’t wanna mess with this guy. He isn’t just another Time Lord.”

“Neither is she,” the Master said with more than a hint of spite.

Eoin gave the Master a sympathetic smile. “I’ll get you two your drinks.”

* * *

The Bachelor and the Master spent a long time at the bar, talking about whatever crossed their minds. For the Bachelor, that was mostly his ex, Jessica. For the Master, that was the Doctor and the secret history of Gallifrey. By the time Eoin called them an Uber, the Master was yelling.

“And then she dared to say she was more than I! As if she were better than me! Well, you know what?” The Master sniffed. “She might be right. We’d be nothing without her . . . bloody . . . inter-dimensional DNA.”

“Like you haven’t had her DNA inside you before,” the Bachelor said with a drunken nudge.

“Uh, fellas, your ride is here,” said Eoin. “Don’t worry, Kashton. I already paid for it. You two just rest up. Have a good night.”

As the two drunk Time Lords stumbled out to the Uber, the Bachelor asked, “Did . . . did you say you destroyed Gallifrey . . . or did I imagine that?”

The Master slid into the car next to the Bachelor and grinned with devilish glee. “Oh, I destroyed Gallifrey, all right.”

The Bachelor punched the Master in the face.

“Hey!” the Uber driver exclaimed. “No fighting in the car!”

The Bachelor sighed. “I keep forgetting what a goddamn genocidal maniac you are.”

“That’s my charm,” the Master slurred.

“Really? Does the Doctor find it charming?”

“I’m going to kill you as soon as we get back to your TARDIS,” the Master hissed.

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes, I am.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes. I am.” The Master clamped his hand around the Bachelor’s throat.

“Not in my car!” the Uber driver scolded. “You two do that on your own time.”

The Bachelor giggled as the Master removed his hand. “C’mon, Master, choking’s not really my thing.”

The Master looked away and didn’t speak for the rest of the ride.

Eventually, the Uber driver pulled up to an unassuming one-level house. “This is the place, right?” they asked.

“Yeah, thanks,” said the Bachelor. He nearly dragged the Master out of the car and into the little house. The Bachelor crashed on the sofa, leaving the Master on the floor. The two were silent for a long time.

“Well . . . on the bright side,” the Bachelor struggled to say, “losing Jessica doesn’t seem like such a big deal now that I’ve lost all of Gallifrey.”

The Master looked around a little too casually. “Is this your TARDIS?’

“Yeah, this is it when I’m not filming a season. You like how I decorated the place?”

“Not enough purple.” The Master’s voice drew closer.

“There’s purple elsewhere in the TARDIS. I could show you in the morning,” the Bachelor murmured, letting his eyes close.

The Master’s soft chuckle was right beside the Bachelor. “I suppose you could.”

Two piercing pains shot through the Bachelor’s chest. The Bachelor sat up in shock. He had a knife in each heart. He looked up at the Master. “Oh, you fucking bastard.”


	2. Frozen Treats and Fashion

“Wakey-wakey, Bachelor,” said the Master.

“Whuhh . . . ?” The Bachelor had a hangover, he could tell immediately. He shouldn’t have drunk so much last night, especially without eating anything. He should’ve ordered some food last night. Maybe fries, maybe ice cream. They had good vanilla ice cream there. A sudden craving hit the Bachelor. _I should get some vanilla ice cream today_ , he thought. _Mint chocolate chip would also be good, or maybe something fruity..._

“Hey!” the Master said sharply. “I said wake up!”

“You’re too loud,” the Bachelor whined. His voice was high-pitched. “Why do I sound weird?”

The Master rolled his eyes. “You regenerated, remember?”

The Bachelor turned that information over in his aching head. “Oh yeah, you stabbed me! To force me to regenerate! Could you stop doing that?”

“How else would I get a new series to watch? You don’t live a dangerous enough life to get yourself killed.”

“Yes, I do. You clearly haven’t been watching my show. Last season, I think five different women tried to kill me.” The Bachelor sat up a little too fast. He groaned and rubbed his temples. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a head of blonde hair moving by the door. “Jessica?”

It wasn’t Jessica; the hair was too short anyway. It was the Bachelor’s reflection in the mirror by the door. She stared wide-eyed at her new face. It wasn’t that different, compared to the other times she’d been female, except for a pair of big brown eyes.

“Well . . . would you look at that,” said the Bachelor. “Looks like I’ve got your eyes.”

“The hair’s familiar, too,” the Master grumbled.

“Oh, you’ve seen Jessica?”

“No, that wasn’t who . . .” The Master trailed off and scowled.

The Bachelor looked at her reflection again pulled at the hem of her polo shirt. “No, no, this won’t do . . . ugh, but I _really_ want ice cream. Fine. Master?”

“Hmm?” The Master had taken to lounging on the Bachelor’s couch.

“I know I’m totally gross right now, but I’m seriously craving ice cream. Come with me.”

“No.” The Master didn’t even look over at the Bachelor.

“Please? You had drinks with me last night. Now have ice cream with me.” She paused. “You know, if you’re with me, no one will even notice what a mess I am. They’ll all be looking at you.”

The Master glared at her. “Was that supposed to be an insult or a compliment?”

The Bachelor shrugged. “Call it what you want.” She crawled over and leaned on the Master’s legs. “Hey, here’s an idea: after we get ice cream and I wash up, you can help me pick out some new clothes. I don’t think the polo and men’s dress pants are gonna cut it anymore.”

The Master sighed. “Fine. But only because you appeal to my stylish nature. Am I allowed to ask about Jessica while we’re out?”

“No. I want this to be a feel-good outing.”

“All right.” The Master let the Bachelor lead the way out the door. He pulled out his phone and started sending out several messages.

* * *

After the Bachelor had sated herself on Cherries Garcia ice cream and taken a shower, she went through a closet she’d nearly forgotten about in her TARDIS. The Master waited outside to criticize her choices.

“Oh, don’t wear any busy patterns like that, love,” he said of an oversized shirt cluttered with mandalas. “Busy patterns were never your thing.”

“That’s too much orange,” he said of an orange romper. “You look like a traffic cone.”

When the Bachelor stepped out in a plaid indigo dress and purple sweater, the Master exclaimed, “I guess imitation is the sincerest form of flattery!”

So it went.

“No way.”

“Ew.”

“That looks like something the Doctor would wear, and we both know she’s always been a fashion disaster.”

“Absolutely not.”

“You’re not even looking this time, man!” the Bachelor objected. “You’re looking at your phone!”

“I’m doing some unbelievably important research right now,” the Master mumbled, not looking up from his phone.

The Bachelor groaned and returned to her closet to try yet another outfit.

Eventually, the Bachelor settled into cool colors. For that day she put on a teal and white sundress. “I love it,” she said. “Might wear it all the time if I can get away with it.”

“Won’t the humans notice?” the Master asked.

“They don’t seem to notice that you’ve been wearing the same outfit for—” the Bachelor drew close to the Master and sniffed. “Eugh. How long have you been wearing that? The laundry room’s to the right and around the corner, across from the library. Go wash your clothes.”

The Master sneered. “You have a library?”

“Duh. I’m not the kind of perfectly-literate, non-dyslexic person who still chooses not to read. I just play one on TV.”

The Master chuckled. “You sure do, love. But what am I supposed to do while my clothes are in the wash? Just send out messages?”

The Bachelor raised her eyebrows and giggled, but the Master rolled his eyes in response. The Bachelor frowned. “Well, you didn’t bring any extra clothes with you, did you?”

The Master put on his “petulant child” expression. “I left them all on my TARDIS. Can’t I borrow any of your clothes?”

“Hmm, I guess you could.” The Bachelor returned to her closet—the one full of women’s clothing, but judging from the Bachelor’s expression and tone, she was completely aware of that. Sure enough, she came back holding a low-cut purple top and a frilly black miniskirt. “You said you liked purple, right, Master?”

The Master stood, snatched the clothes out of the Bachelor’s hands, and stormed out of the room. “I will remain in the laundry room until I have finished washing my clothes,” he said over his shoulder. “I will only put on this outfit in an emergency!”

The Bachelor sighed and shook her head. It was worth a try, she figured. Would that skirt even fit him? She tried to picture it in her mind, but that conjured up another image: of another, very different pair of legs and a different black hem. Jessica, in her little black dress, breathtaking. The Bachelor’s hearts shattered all over again. She needed more ice cream.


	3. The Associate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All right, you've heard of the Doctor, the Master, AND the Bachelor, but now get ready for the Associate!

The Bachelor nearly headed out to the nearest store for a couple of pints of strawberry ice cream, but a thought occurred to her. She stopped to call one of her closest friends.

“Batch, I’m at work right now!” the Associate scolded on the other end of the line. At least, it should have been the Associate, but his voice sounded different. Perhaps he had regenerated?

“You’re always at work,” the Bachelor said. “Where are you right now?”

“Tesco.”

“Same one you’ve been working at?” the Bachelor asked, heading toward her TARDIS console.

“Yeah, wh—oh my god. Do _not_ drop by, Bachelor.”

The Bachelor pulled a lever. “Too late! On my way!”

The Associate groaned. “Well, don’t bug me during my shift.”

“I won’t! I just need to get some ice cream and figured I’d get it at your place. See ya, Soshi.” She hung up.

The Master stumbled into the console room wearing his jacket over the outfit the Bachelor had given him. “Where and when do you think you’re taking this TARDIS?”

The Bachelor turned around. Her eyebrows shot up. “Oh damn.”

“I asked you a question.”

“I know, I know. Don’t worry, we’re just going to somewhere in the U.K., don’t remember exactly where. I’m impressed the clothes fit you at all.”

“Bachelor, why are we going to the U.K.?”

“To get ice cream.”

“Why are we going to _the U.K._ to get _ice cream_?!” The Master’s spittle sprayed across the floor. “Didn’t you drag me to a nearby stupid ice cream shop earlier today?!”

“Ben and Jerry’s is not a ‘stupid ice cream shop.’ It is a place of brilliant flavor and texture innovation. Also, the Associate is working in the U.K. I wanna visit him.” The TARDIS shuddered to a stop. “Oh yay, we’re here! You coming with me?”

“Oh please, to see the Associate?” the Master scoffed. “I have way better uses of my time.”

“Wow, okay, be like that ‘cuz you can’t handle doing anything that isn’t melodramatic and world-ending.” The Bachelor grabbed a shopping bag and headed toward the door. “You want anything?”

“I want to get you started on a new series of _The Bachelorette_ so I can go back to . . . my usual itinerary,” the Master said through gritted teeth.

“All right.” The Bachelor opened the door, stepped out of a Tesco Bank, and hurried inside the store.

“Let’s see, ice cream,” the Bachelor murmured. She headed toward the end of the store. On the way, she scanned the crowd for her old friend. He probably had a different face compared with the last time she saw him, but she would recognize him anyway. She usually did.

“Sorry!” A blonde woman with a long coat and a Yorkshire accent breezed past the Bachelor. “In a bit of a rush. Emergency.”

“Um . . . okay.” The woman’s face looked vaguely familiar, but the Bachelor didn’t dwell on it.

The Bachelor found the ice cream and looked through it for strawberry. There was something about ice cream this regeneration, especially if it had fruit in it. She thought about her old favorite food, “Kashton’s" favorite food, fries with Old Bay seasoning. Hmm . . . no. It still sounded good, but it didn’t kick up cravings like fruit-flavored ice cream.

“Need any help, miss?” A worker had appeared next to the Bachelor. He felt familiar to her.

“I might.” The Bachelor didn’t affect any accent from anywhere nearby. “Is that you, Soshi?”

The Associate shrugged. “Yep, it’s me.”

The Bachelor studied her old friend’s new face. “So you did regenerate. I thought that was a different voice on the phone.”

The Associate winced and hissed at the memory. “Yeah . . . bit of an accident in the back of the Wal-Mart.”

“Sorry to hear it,” said the Bachelor.

“Don’t think I didn’t notice you’ve regenerated, too. Dare I ask?”

The Bachelor grabbed two pints of ice cream. “I am going to put on some adorable silk pajamas I forgot I had, watch half-edited clips of the season of _The Bachelor_ I finished recording not too long ago, eat these, and cry whenever I see Jessica on the screen.”

The Associate nodded. He reorganized the next freezer over while he talked. “Figured that was involved. How long before you have to start filming a new series—sorry, season—of _The Bachelorette_?”

“Master’s itching to get me started again,” the Bachelor said, rolling her eyes.

“The Master? She’s calling herself the Master again?”

“Yeah, what else would—she?” The Bachelor nearly dropped her ice cream. “The Master was a woman and I missed it?”

The Associate raised his eyebrows. “Apparently you did. Guess you miss out on things when you’re stuck in a house with a bunch of brainless women fighting over you.”

“Jessica wasn’t brainless,” the Bachelor said quietly.

The Associate patted the Bachelor on the shoulder. “Of course she wasn’t, Batch,” he said. “But now you gotta get ready to be stuck in a house with a bunch of brainless men.”

The Bachelor sighed. “I guess so.”

“Excuse me.” Two men approached the Associate. The older, gray-haired man had spoken. He was holding a glass measuring cup. “Do you know if a cup like this is . . . um . . . microwave-safe?”

The younger man stifled a laugh.

“Well, I’m not sure if that cup is, sir,” the Associate said, “but we sell microwave-safe kitchenware if that’s what you need.”

“What if it wasn’t exactly in a microwave oven, but exposed to microwaves in a different way?” the younger man asked.

“What are you two planning?” the Bachelor asked.

The Associate sighed. “Please . . . miss. Let me help these men.”

“Fam!” A woman in a long coat came running, holding a box of Cocoa Puffs. It was the same woman who had nearly crashed into the Bachelor earlier. She was holding a dark-haired woman’s hand. “This’ll work in a pinch, I think, to make sure we—“ She stopped and stared at the Associate and the Bachelor.

“Uh, can I help you?” the Associate asked.

“Wait. Doctor, is that you?” the Bachelor asked, smiling. It looked like her from the Master’s photo collection, at least. “You probably haven’t been watching my show, but I regenerated.”

The Doctor released the other woman’s hand and moved forward slowly, ignoring the humans’ questions. “You two are alive?” she asked softly. “You survived the . . . the destruction of Gallifrey?”

The Associate’s eyebrows raised slightly. “Oh, Gallifrey was destroyed again?” He sighed. “Of course it was.”

“Wait, what do you mean _again_?” asked the Bachelor. “Who destroyed it the first time?”

“Uhhh . . .” the Doctor began.

“Is that a thing?” the Bachelor continued. “Can you destroy a planet twice?”

“Doctor,” said the younger man, “aren’t we in a bit of a rush?”

The Doctor gasped, nearly dropping the box of Cocoa Puffs. “You’re right, Ryan! We don’t have time to lose! Talk later, you two.”

“Wait, what?” asked the Associate. But the Doctor had already run off with Ryan quick on her heels.

“All three of you are her traveling companions, aren’t you?” the Bachelor asked. “It’s been so long since I talked to the Doctor or any of her people. She good to you?”

The woman blushed and grinned. “Yeah.”

“Awfully secretive, though,” the man added.

She’s been like that for as long as I’ve known her,” the Bachelor said. “She’s been through so many faces, and I haven’t even had the right number for her since she was running around with a question mark umbrella.”

“How many faces has she been through?” the Associate asked.

“Short answer? Hella.” The Bachelor fished two business cards out of her purse and gave them to the Doctors’ companions. “I know you’re in a rush, so just make sure the Doctor gets in contact with me some time. I can do Pretend Everything’s Fine. It’s kinda my job. Good to meet you, uh. . .”

“Yaz. Graham,” The woman pointed to herself and the man in turn. “Good to meet you too.” Yaz and Graham headed in the direction the Doctor and Ryan had gone.

The Associate turned to the Bachelor. “Yaz. Think you could go by the name Yaz this series—uh, season?”

The Bachelor shook her head. “There was a Yasmin on the show last season.” She paused to think about names. Any of the names of the women who had courted her last season were out of the question, which eliminated several names the Bachelor liked. She couldn’t use Graham, but the last time she was the bachelorette, she met a man named Graham whose sister’s name was—

“Emily. I think I’ll say my name is Emily.”

The Associate walked across the aisle to organize another section. “The name suits you,” he said. “Hey, Batch? You should probably go before your ice cream melts.”

“A’ight, man,” the Bachelor said. “Hug before I go? Or would that seem suspicious?”

“It would seem suspicious,” said the Associate. “Hugging customers isn’t exactly in my job description. Maybe I’ll find the time to drop by during the season.”

“You literally have a TARDIS, but go off I guess. Is it still a port-a-potty?”

The Associate sighed. “Yeah.”

“You gotta get that fixed, man.” The Bachelor headed toward the checkout lines. “ _¡Hasta luego, mi amigo!_ ”


	4. The Season Begins

Eventually, the time came for the Bachelor to begin filming the next season of _The Bachelorette_.

“It’s time, sis,” she said to her TARDIS as she stood in the console room. “Time to become Villa de la Vina.”

The TARDIS whined in response.

“Maybe this time they won’t cause as much damage.”

The TARDIS creaked and whirred.

“I’ll try my best, sis, okay?!” The Bachelor approached the console and punched in a destination. “You remember how to get there, right? Let’s go.”

When Time Lady and TARDIS arrived, the TARDIS became the mansion into which the Bachelor would welcome several humans hoping to win her hearts. The Bachelor bounded out into the house and almost immediately collided with one of the producers.

“Oh!” The Bachelor took a couple of steps back and put on her mask of reality television pleasantness. “Mr. Holloway! It’s good to see you.”

“I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure, miss,” said Mr. Holloway.

“I’m the bachelorette,” the Bachelor said, shaking Mr. Holloway’s hand. “My name is Emily. Emily Lowman.”

Mr. Holloway nodded in acknowledgment. “Didn’t know you would be in the house already.”

“Oh, uh, Mr. Gale let me scope out the place,” the Bachelor said quickly.

Mr. Holloway nodded and gave a little “ah” of understanding. “Well, Mr. Gale is wondering where you are. He wants you to meet the team before you go out to promote the new season.”

The Bachelor put on a pleasant, compliant smile. “That sounds great.” She let Mr. Holloway lead her outside the house, where Chris Harrison was waiting for them.

“There she is!” Chris Harrison walked over, smiling his television host smile, and shook the Bachelor’s hand with both of his. “We met during the casting process, didn’t we?”

The Bachelor nodded. “Yes. Emily Lowman.” Chris Harrison knew she wasn’t human. He had known for over a decade. He had always been so calm about it, to the point that the Bachelor couldn’t help but wonder if he, too, was—

“I’m really looking forward to this upcoming season, Emily,” said Chris Harrison. “After you meet the crew, Elan Gale wants me to interview you as soon as possible.”

“Of course.” It was easy for the Bachelor to fall back into the routine. Meeting producers, editors, and camera operators was easy. Posing for photos was easy. Coming up with and sharing her human backstory was easy. Being interviewed was easy if a little annoying. Acting like she was just as excited to meet all the guys as she was during her first season of _The Bachelor_? Yeah, that was easy, too.

During one interview with Chris Harrison, the Bachelor noticed movement out of the corner of her eye. A man standing beyond the cameras was waving an envelope back and forth, trying to get Chris Harrison’s attention. Chris Harrison was trying his best to ignore the man.

After three minutes of this, Chris Harrison looked into the A-Cam and said, “I think we can take a break here.” He paused, dropped his smile, and added, “Edit this out.” He looked over at the man with the envelope. “What is it?”

“I have a message for Emily,” the man said. “I understand it’s from one of the investors.”

Chris Harrison beckoned the man over. “Let’s take a look at it.”

The man walked over. The purple envelope simply read, “To Miss Emily Lowman from Mr. Barack Stemis.” However, the lights caught the faintest glint of additional writing: circular Gallifreyan, reading, “From the Master.”

The Bachelor looked over at Chris Harrison. Had he noticed the watermark? Judging from his expression, he’d noticed _something_.

“Barack Stemis,” Chris Harrison muttered. “I don’t think you’ve met Barack, Emily. He’s one of our investors from across the pond. You know we have so many of those.”

“Barack Stemis,” the Bachelor echoed, weighing the pseudonym on her tongue. “I can’t imagine what he wants with me.”

“It’s probably a letter of well-wishes,” Chris Harrison said, his television host smile back on his face. His eyes, however, told a different story. “You should wait until later to open it, maybe when the buzz from today has died down.”

The Bachelor had no problem doing that. She tucked the letter into her purse and continued her day of promo. She didn’t even glance at the letter until the end of the day when she returned to her TARDIS and hid away in the console room. The Gallifreyan writing on the envelope and the letter practically glowed in the TARDIS’s lights.

_Dear Bachelor,_

_I am so glad you are beginning yet another series of The Bachelorette. Perhaps you will find love for real this time. I wouldn’t count on it, though. Humans can be so flaky. They broke the Doctor’s hearts several times over. Humans are beneath even you._

_I’ll be coming by during the series to check on you. I may already have, in a previous regeneration, but I can’t quite remember. It all runs together in my head—you know how it is._

_In the meantime, since I know you’re at least intelligent enough to understand this, stay out of my way. Stay occupied with your human harem, and do not interfere with any of my plans or my chaos. You are unworthy of such matters. I could never let someone like you defeat me._

_If you don’t behave yourself, “Emily Lowman” will be the last face you will ever have._

_Hope we can go out drinking again some time!_

_Much love,_

_The Master xx_

The Bachelor dropped the letter to the floor, more annoyed than anything else. “Yep, that’s about what I expected.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought this chapter was too long, so I split it into two chapters. Congratulations, you get two chapters at once. :D
> 
> And no, I couldn't resist the "Barack Stemis" thing.


	5. The First Cocktail Party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not every guy in the house is mentioned in this chapter. I'm not showing my full hand yet. :P

The Bachelor met all the guys a few days later, and she was legitimately excited. She stood outside her TARDIS wearing a glittery deep blue dress and a pleasant reality TV smile, and she waited.

* * *

The first man to arrive was named Michael. He didn’t try to get her attention with a goofy costume, silly song, or anything like that. He was just charming, if slightly aggressive, but she pretended not to notice his aggression.

* * *

A somewhat wiry man smiled at the Bachelor as he approached her. “You’re Emily, right? I’ve read so much about you! I’m Tyler.”

“What have you read about me, Tyler?” the Bachelor teased.

Tyler blushed. “Just an article or two from your promotional material about how excited you are to be on this show, a-and find the one. And, um, maybe I read your entire Wikipedia page.”

“I’m on Wikipedia?!” That was quick. The Bachelor made a mental note to read whatever the crew and the investors were saying about Emily Lowman.

Tyler chuckled. “Yeah, how ‘bout that? I-I-I was hoping, I mean I am hoping, that I could be good for you, and so I’m looking forward to getting to know you better.”

“I’m looking forward to getting to know you better, too.” She moved in for a hug and kept her smile plastered on her face. Tyler had used way too many of the show’s cliché lines, and combined with his stammering . . . had they given him a script already?

* * *

There was another Michael, and he had something strange to say. “Emily, I want to be upfront with you, because I deeply value clear communication. I share a name with a serial killer, so if you look my name up on the Internet, you might get that serial killer. I just want to emphasize that I’m not a serial killer. That is not me. He doesn’t even look like me. I mean, he’s a white guy, for one thing.”

The Bachelor tried to turn her look of shock and concern into one of amusement. “Well, Michael, I’m glad you’re not a serial killer.”

“Except during breakfast time,” Michael said with a huge grin.

“Wh—? Oh my god.” The Bachelor forced a laugh. Like she hadn’t heard the “cereal killer” joke before. “That’s sooo funny! A CEREAL killer! Like the cereal you EAT!” She maintained her forced laughter. She tried not to look at the cameras, but there was pity in one cameraman’s eyes.

* * *

Another man showed up wearing cat ears and a cat tail. He had drawn whiskers and a cat’s nose on his face.

A few of the guys had gathered at the house’s windows and were grumbling among themselves. One of them said, “He looks stupid.” Most of them agreed, though one said, “Shut up, he looks good! I mean, he rocks it.”

The Bachelor burst out laughing. “Oh my goodness! You—you look—you’re really something else, aren’t you? You look great!”

The cat man beamed. “Thank you. So do you. It’s so good to meet you, Emily. I’m Emerson.” He went in for a hug, but his tail had curled around his legs and got in the way. “Oh, sorry about the tail.”

“It’s all right.” The Bachelor hoped this guy was a furry or other-kin. That would at least be interesting. However, she knew in her hearts it was far more likely he was just another good-looking but largely uninteresting man using a gimmick to make a memorable first impression.

“You’re probably wondering why I’m wearing this,” Emerson said.

_Please be a furry or other-kin. Please be a furry or other-kin._

“It’s to emphasize how purr-fect we could be together.” Emerson flashed a big, goofy grin. “But I do have a cat at home. His name is Missile Launcher.”

The Bachelor faked a smile in return. Not a furry or other-kin (probably), but at least he had good taste in cat names. “Well, I look forward to getting to know you better, uh . . . Missile Launcher’s dad.”

Emerson chuckled. “Emily, if that’s the only thing you call me, I won’t mind.”

* * *

When a man with slicked-back hair made eye contact with the Bachelor, his eyes nearly popped out of his head.

“Emily!” he exclaimed. “Wow, you look so beautiful.”

The Bachelor gave him a sweet smile. “Thank you. What’s your name?”

“I’m Wesley, like the guy in _The Princess Bride_.”

“Oh, I love that movie! Maybe we could watch it if we find the time?”

Wesley smiled. “As you wish.”

From the window, one of the Michaels hissed, “Wow, I hate this guy.”

 _Good god, it’s been like thirty seconds_ , the Bachelor thought.

* * *

So it went until the Bachelor had met all of them. She made her way through the impromptu cocktail party, chatting with people as she went. Crew members kept pulling men into quieter rooms for interviews. Jacob L ran past her, wearing Emerson’s cat ears and laughing. Emerson chased after him.

“Shut up, man! Aliens are real!”

Oh no. The Bachelor hoped none of the guys were here to expose her extraterrestrial origin. That kind of thing likely had a detrimental effect on the show’s ratings. She hurried over to the man who had spoken, a smile spread across her face.

“What’s going on, guys?” she asked in an almost too-bubbly tone.

“This guy here believes in aliens,” said a muscular man whose name started with a B. He was pointing at Calvin. Everything about the muscular man—his voice, his expression, the way he pointed his finger—was accusatory, as if it were against the law to believe in aliens.

“Do you believe in aliens, Emily?” Calvin asked, maintaining eye contact with B the Accusatory.

 _Yes, because I believe in myself. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t get very far in life._ “Well, the universe is like . . . really big, right? Maybe there are aliens on another planet out there somewhere.”

“I believe in aliens,” another man said, jumping into the conversation. It was Bowie—the Bachelor remembered _his_ name. It was easy to remember the name of a man who practically radiated charm. “My grandfather has actually met aliens.”

“He did not,” B the Accusatory said, folding his arms.

“Wow, really?” Calvin gasped. “Did they probe him? The aliens, I mean?”

Bowie chuckled. “Not all of them. But the ones who did, well, it was more of a mutual, fully consensual probing, if you get my meaning.” He winked.

The Bachelor giggled.

“Have you met any of the aliens your grandpa says he met?” B the Accusatory asked.

“Yes, I did, Bradley.” THAT was his name! “When I was ten, my grandfather introduced me to an alien man who flew around in a boxy blue spaceship.”

“That was fake,” Bradley insisted. “Your grandpa got someone to dress up as an alien and help him paint a cardboard box blue so you’d still believe in his stories.”

“How do you know?” Calvin asked Bradley. “You weren’t there.”

“What he said,” Bowie said with a nod toward Calvin. “But come on, guys, we’re ignoring the belle of the ball.” He flashed a smile in the Bachelor’s direction. The Bachelor couldn’t help but smile back.

* * *

By the end of the evening, the Bachelor had a good idea of who should receive her roses. She had already given her first impression rose to Malik. By the end of the ceremony, Chad, Jermaine, Chris, Matt, and Andrew had not received roses.

“Gentlemen,” Chris Harrison said to those five men, “take a moment and say your good-byes.”

The five men were sweet to the Bachelor before they departed, but she had hardly spoken to them, so she felt nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone have a favorite guy yet? (Yeah, me neither.) Or a least favorite guy?


	6. Representation and the Right Reasons

The Bachelor sat in a meeting with two writers, trying not to dissociate. One writer was praising her for giving the first impression rose to Malik, claiming it would appeal to an oft-neglected demographic. The other was doubtful the move would be well-received.

“Are there even any Black people among our audience?”

“Yes! I follow several on Twitter! People have been calling for racial diversity on the show. They’re gonna love that Emily gave the first impression rose to a man of color. You know how many men and women got far in the show after receiving the first impression rose?”

“Weren’t all those men and women White, though? There’s going to be backlash once they see a non-White man gaining favor.”

“There’s always backlash! There are always people who don’t like . . .”

This was too much of a massive fucking headache. The Bachelor zoned out for several minutes. Dinner dates, bowling dates, movie dates, mini-golf dates, bookstore dates. Hospital thrift shops and jewelry stores in small towns. Supermarkets. When could she visit the Associate again? Would he come by to visit her? Why was he so unsurprised that Gallifrey had been destroyed? When had he met the Master in a female regeneration? Would she stop by to check up on the show?

“. . . As I said, Black people do watch the show. Plus, I’ve seen Asians on Twitter call for an Asian Bachelor.”

 _Wow, guess I’ll try to regenerate into an Asian man next time, then_ , the Bachelor thought to herself.

“Anecdotal evidence.”

“My point is, even among our largely White viewer base . . .”

The Bachelor wished she could control what she regenerated into. She’d never been anything but something that could pass as a White human. Even more so, she always looked like the same type of White human. It was getting monotonous.

“Emily, what do you think?”

It took a moment for the Bachelor to notice the room had fallen silent. “Huh?” She looked up, confused, at the two writers. They were staring at her, waiting for her to speak.

“Well . . .” She drew out the word, trying to disguise her quick Time Lady brain behind an impression of a dumb blonde human. She thought of that Black woman who had gotten relatively far with her, of parody videos with all-Asian casts, of critique from Black creators who called her shows “for White people, primarily,” of tweets and articles supporting one or the other of the arguments in front of her.

She sighed. “I mean . . .” she drawled again. There had been something about Malik’s demeanor that put the Bachelor at ease immediately. He was all smiles and warm hugs. When Brian had slammed back too many drinks at the first cocktail party and tried to pick a fight with Christian, Malik had been able to de-escalate the situation. If Malik joined her on a vacation, maybe he would be able to help her out of trouble. Then again, she might have to help _him_ out of trouble if she went to certain places and times in Earth’s history. Humans just couldn’t ignore the race thing the way Time Lords did. And so what if she wanted to take a human man with her to Earth’s past?

“He’s a sweet man, and I’d hate to have to ignore him all of a sudden,” the Bachelor told the writers. She batted her eyelashes a few times, trying to put on an innocent face. “Could you ask some of the rest of the crew what they think? They’ve matched up so many people before, so they probably know more than I do.” Translation: Please leave me alone about this. I hate this conversation.

The writers looked at each other. “I guess we could do that,” one of them said.

“Always good to confer with others,” the other agreed. “Thank you for chatting with us, Emily. You should return to your harem.”

The Bachelor tried not to roll her eyes. Instead, she forced a smile. “I’ll do that, sirs. Thank you for letting me sit in on your important meeting.”

The first thing the Bachelor heard when she left the room was an enthusiastic, “WHAT UP, MY DEV-O-TEES?”

Oh no. That had to have been Devin. What was he vlogging about?

“Today in the Villa de la Vina, I’m chilling with my new buddy, Tyler. Wassup, Tyler?”

“Dude, I’m not your buddy.”

“Yeah, man, leave him alone.” That sounded like Michael A. “Stop trying to be all buddy-buddy with us when we all know we can’t trust you.”

“Whaddya mean, man?” Devin complained.

“You’re not here for the right reasons,” said Michael A. “You just want to get more subscribers and followers.”

“Hey! This is my job. I have to vlog, even while I’m finding love.”

The Bachelor found the argument taking place in one of the house’s many living rooms. Devin was shoving his camera into Michael A’s face.

“Yeah, cuz you can’t hold down a real job,” Christian remarked from one of the couches. Beside him, Tyler chuckled.

Devin turned to Christian, pointing his camera at the man. “Well, I’m sorry! We can’t all be super-successful environmental regulation lawyers!”

“I’d rather struggle to make it as a lawyer than be an Internet clown,” Michael A said with a smirk.

“Look, bro, I gotta record and edit all my videos, handle copyright claims, stay relevant, choose sponsorships wisely—up until recently, I’d been handling all my social media on my own as well.” Devin looked from Christian to Michael A and back again. “Christian, bro . . . being an influencer is a business, too. Surely we can vibe together on that?”

“I’d really rather not,” said Christian.

“I’ll acknowledge you’re a businessman,” said Tyler. “You just have a super lame business.”

“Says the guy who’s following 5K different influencer accounts on Twitter and Instagram! Oh yeah, you don’t think I’ve looked you up? You don’t think I’ve looked all of you up? I know what you put out there: what you’re all into, what trends you’ve followed, what and who you’ve criticized—”

“Whom,” Christian muttered.

“Excuse me, bitch? Excuse me?” Devin asked. “I don’t have my best microphone on me. You’re gonna have to speak up.”

“Emily?”

The Bachelor nearly jumped out of her skin. So did the guys in the room. Devin nearly dropped his camera. They all turned to the door where the Bachelor stood with Emery behind her.

“Emily!” Tyler sat up straight on the couch. “How long have you been there?”

“Long enough.” She glanced around quickly, making sure there were no camera operators around. She took a quick note of a camera left recording on top of a bookshelf. Great, that meant no eye-rolling or saying anything that wasn’t painfully obvious. “What’s wrong?”

“Emily,” Christian began, standing and approaching the Bachelor, “these guys and I are concerned Devin isn’t here for the right reasons.”

Behind the Bachelor, Emery gasped. Over on the couch, Tyler stifled a laugh, but none of the humans seemed to notice.

“We want to protect you, Emily,” said Michael A. “Devin’s just here for clout. He’s got his Internet ‘business’”—he used air quotes—“and we don’t want him breaking your heart.”

It was probably a good time to cry, so the Bachelor pouted and tried to force out a few tears. She put a deliberate stammer into her next words. “Th-that . . . that’s so sweet. So sweet that you’re all looking out for me like that.”

Christian smiled. “Any time.”

“B-but . . . it makes me so sad when you guys don’t get along!” She sniffed. “I know . . . I-I-I, I know you all have good hearts.” She turned to poor Emery, whom she’d had to ignore for the past few minutes. “Emery, did you want to ask me something?”

“Y-yeah, actually.” Emery had puppy eyes and a smile that could light up all of Gallifrey, which more than made up for the annoyingly similar name. “I was wondering if I could treat you to dinner tonight at 6?”

“Now hang on—” Michael A began.

“Of course!” the Bachelor replied, dropping her sad façade. “I’d love that!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you aren't familiar with the _Bachelor_ franchise, I should tell you it's time to get used to "being here for the right reasons."


	7. Bridget Jones and Her Lancelot?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emery takes the Bachelor(ette) out to dinner. Meanwhile, an editor needs to make sure the on-screen information about everyone is correct.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my friend Nathan for the chapter title!

Emery had found a restaurant not far from Villa de la Vina. It was nice and relaxed, and the food was good. Emery and the Bachelor talked mainly about hobbies. The Bachelor had an entire reservoir of ordinary (and not-so-ordinary) human hobbies in her mind, some of which she knew more about than others. She mentioned a fondness for _Bridget Jones’s Diary_ since that was an old standby.

Emery’s puppy eyes lit up. He clapped his hands together. “I’ll admit I’m more familiar with the movie than the book, but I find it super interesting how _Bridget Jones’s Diary_ exemplifies the ways we still tell stories akin to medieval romance even today.”

An unexpected take, to be sure. The Bachelor wasn’t faking her interest when she asked, “Oh, really? How so?”

“Medieval romance’s modern counterparts are action movies and romantic comedies,” Emery began. “ _Bridget Jones_ being the latter, obviously. You still have the lover and the beloved—think Lancelot and Guinevere—and all the external and internal obstacles keeping them apart. However, while Lancelot pursues Guinevere, Bridget pursues Daniel and Mark as much as they pursue her. She doesn’t have to sit back and wait and maybe pull strings like a beloved in a medieval romance. Heck, even as recently as . . .”

Back at Villa de la Vina, hijinks were ensuing.

An editor (who had already checked with Emery) was going over the lower-third titles for the first episode with all the men. The editor had connected her laptop to the screen in the living room with the television, and everyone was scattered around the room, watching.

“Hey, you misspelled my name!” Wesley exclaimed. “There’s no T in my name!”

The editor looked up at him. “You said your name was Westley like in _The Princess Bride_ , right? He spells it with a T.”

Wesley stood there for a moment in stunned silence. “Crap.”

Several of the men burst out laughing, especially Michael A and Tyler.

“Easy mistake, Wesley,” the editor said, correcting the spelling of Wesley’s name on the lower title that introduced him. “Now, Devin, did you want us to introduce you as a ‘YouTuber’ or ‘internet influencer’ or—”

“Doesn’t matter!” Bradley howled, earning more laughter.

“Hey.” Malik’s voice carried across the room. “It matters to Devin, and I’m sure it matters to Ms. Conley and her boss to get our information correct on-screen.”

The editor smiled. _If Malik gets eliminated_ , she thought, _maybe I’ll go after him_.

“Malik is right,” Dylan added. “I know many people are hesitant to trust Devin, but he’s still here. He’s still part of the show. Now is not the time to explode in his face.”

“We might as well,” Jacob U pointed out. “Isn’t that what viewers like?”

“No, they wouldn’t include footage of us helping with post-production,” Tyler muttered.

Everyone turned to look at Tyler. “How can you be so sure?” asked Calvin.

“Ha, well, i-i-it’s, uh,” Tyler began, “it’s not very interesting to um, watch a bunch of people sit around editing video, right?”

“It really isn’t,” Devin said, sinking his head into his hands.

“Makes sense.” Jacob U said, shrugging off Tyler’s odd comment and returning his attention to the editor’s questions. Most of the other men followed suit. Only Calvin kept his attention on Tyler for a little longer.

“You,” Calvin whispered, pointing his finger at Tyler. “I like you. You’re observant.”

“Uh . . . thanks?” Tyler replied.

“You interested in alien activity?”

“I . . . sure, why not?” Tyler smiled at Calvin.

“Cool. After we’re done with this editing BS, you can join me and Bowie in talking about aliens.”

“Sounds like a good time,” said Tyler, who was at the very least certain it would be an _interesting_ time.

* * *

By the time the Bachelor returned to Villa de la Vina, her head was full of new information on romantic comedies as they relate to the medieval romance genre. If she ever took a trip to Medieval Europe, she’d have to keep a lookout for those tropes as they were beginning and evolving in the royal courts.

The cameras remained on her and Emery as they entered the house, Emery word-vomiting an essay on how _Crazy Rich Asians_ meshes Chinese Singaporean and Chinese American perspectives into the traditional romantic comedy narrative. At least, it sounded like an essay—he was referencing a lot of sources; he might as well have given surnames and page numbers after each idea that wasn’t his own.

“Welcome back, you two,” said Chris Harrison. “I hope your dinner date went well.”

“Oh, it did!” The Bachelor hoped she was giving her usual smile, distracted though she was. “Food was delicious. Relaxed atmosphere. This guy’s got a mind for rom-com analysis.”

“Is that so?” Chris Harrison’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. His tone was enthusiastic, but the Bachelor knew him well enough to detect the hint of doubt in his voice. She looked at him and saw the skepticism in his expression.

“You should’ve heard him going on about _Bridget Jones’s Diary_ and _When Harry Met Sally_ ,” the Bachelor said. She turned to Emery and asked, “Bruh, surely you’ve written on the topic?”

“Oh, yeah,” Emery said, nodding. “You’d be surprised how many people are writing legitimate analyses of the genre from a variety of perspectives.”

“I have got to read those sometime,” said the Bachelor. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Chris Harrison making a face, so she quickly added in a ditzy drawl, “Especially _your_ work, Emery. You’re so smart.”

Emery blushed. “Thanks. Um, did . . . did you call me ‘bruh’ a moment ago?”

 _Shit._ The Bachelor stretched her eyebrows up, forced her eyes wide, and placed her hands over her open mouth. “Oh my gosh, did I?” she asked, maintaining the ditzy voice. She forced a giggle. “Oh, that’s so embarrassing!”

“No, no, it’s all right.” Emery placed a hand on the Bachelor’s shoulder. “It’s kinda funny. Kinda quirky. You can call me ‘bruh’ if you want. At the very least, you don’t have to avoid it.”

The Bachelor searched her date’s face for a tell. She wasn’t the greatest at detecting deception—how else would she get stuck on this show for so long?—but she always hoped. She hoped Emery wasn’t saying this just for show. Anything he could’ve said on the date could have been scripted. They could have downloaded some film student’s essay off the internet. He could’ve been making it all up. But she wanted to trust.

It didn’t matter this early on in the show. She knew what she had to say for the cameras.

“Thank you, Emery. You’re so sweet.”


End file.
